Those Left Behind
by write25
Summary: CHAPTER TWO IS EDITED! so sorry about the huge wait, and thanks for the great reviews! When one of the four friends is killed in the line of work, the others must find the strength to cope with their loss and to move on with their lives.
1. Crying

Jesse could hardy recognize the body on the stretcher, yet one quick look at the badge prominently displayed on the victim's chest told the young doctor who he was.  
  
Steve. Jesse knew that he had been on a stakeout, waiting for 'Big Mike,' as the authorities called him, a burglar/con-artist to return to the scene of the crime. He had gotten up early in the morning, as usual, said goodbye to everyone, and left for work. Getting into his car; that was the last time Jesse, Amanda, or Mark had seen him.  
  
Until now. Steve's almost lifeless body lay on the gurney, blood gushing from the open wound in his chest. His breath came in short gasps, aided by a manual respirator, and his pulse was irregular and uneven, reminding Jesse of the techno song playing on the radio.  
  
Backing up in total shock, Jesse let go of the stretcher and watched the paramedics wheel Steve's unconscious form into the OR. Jesse sank into one of the dull gray chairs in the waiting area, not believing what was happening. He knew that there were risks in being a detective, they all knew that, but it was always a startling slap back to reality when something like this happened. Jesse whipped out his cell phone and called Mark's pager, providing, of course, that he hadn't already heard. News spread around the hospital like wildfire.  
  
"Dr. Travis? What're you doing? We need you in here, STAT!" one of the nurses called to him from the operating room. Jesse stood and rushed into the sterilized room and where the other surgeons tried to save his friend. Steve's life as entirely in their hands now.  
.  
  
Amanda had just finished the autopsy she had been working on and shut the body back in the morgue vault. She was washing her hands off when she heard the morgue door open and spun around to see Mark. Turning off the faucet, she turned to face the older doctor.  
  
"Hello Mark." What's going on?" The young medical examiner asked, picking up her pathology report. "They've been paging you for the past ten minutes."  
  
"I know. I was caught in a board meeting, left my pager at the nurses' station, and couldn't get out," Mark paused. "Oh, Amanda, it's Steve. He's been shot."  
  
"What happened? Is he alright?" Amanda dropped the report back on the examination table, worry lining her voice.  
  
"I'm not clear on all the details yet, but apparently this 'Big Mike' character came out and started shooting. One of the shots missed the Kevlar and hit Steve in the chest. They want me in the OR to supervise."  
  
"Well, I'm coming with you," Amanda insisted. "Is there anything I can do?"  
  
"Just pray for Steve," Mark replied, gently escorting her out of the morgue by the shoulder. "Pray for him."  
  
.  
  
Mark stepped into the operating room, still tying on his surgical mask. Everyone glanced up, muttered some form of greeting, and again focused their attention to the procedure.  
  
"How's he doing?" Mark asked while applying antiseptic to another, minor, shot to Steve's leg before removing the shell.  
  
"The bullet punctured his left lung, he's got hemorrhaging in the chest and abdomen, also hemorrhaging near the brain stem and cerebellum. Whatever he landed on when he hit the ground was really tough, probably concrete of something like that," one of the trauma nurses rattled off, not looking up from inserting and IV drip.  
  
Jesse and Mark exchanged apprehensive looks. They both knew the severity of the situation, and how much danger Steve was in, and that it would take every effort, every attempt, every possibility, to save him. Holding onto his limp hand, Mark whispered to his anesthetized son, "Hang in there, Steve. We're gonna get you out of this. One way or another, you're coming out of here."  
  
.  
  
Amanda remained outside the operating room, nervously waiting for Mark or Jesse to emerge with news on Steve's condition. She paced the hall, occasionally stopping to offer an unspoken prayer for her friend who so desperately needed God's help. After she has memorized every detail of the Van Gough replica on the wall, enough to be able to repaint it blindfolded, she started asking any doctor or nurse who passed by on the whereabouts of Steve. Nobody knew anything. An hour had passed since Mark had notified her, but it felt like and eternity.  
  
Suddenly, from inside the OR, Amanda heard one of the surgeons shout something, she heard scrambling around, she heard the squeaking of crash cart wheels, and then she heard nothing. Sitting on the edge of her seat, she waited, in anxious anticipation, the outcome of Steve's predicament.  
  
The door to the operating room swung open and Jesse stepped out, his scrubs stained with blood and sweat. His steps were shaky and his lower lip quivered as tears ran silently down his face. Amanda stood, wordlessly asking the question that she already knew the terrifying answer to.  
  
Lifting his tear-streaked face, Jesse slowly shook his head, still in a state of shock and disbelief. Two feet away, Amanda breather a practically inaudible, pained word of denial. But as she welcomed Jesse into a frightened embrace, she knew the truth. The two of them sank onto their knees on the ice of the tile, crying freely.  
  
Passing doctors and nurses offered whispered condolences; most of them had figured out what had happened. Mark came out of the operating room a half hour after Jesse and joined in the small huddle of tears and sorrow. The three friends remained there long after the ends of their shifts, noiselessly comforting each other. None of them spoke, as they all knew the reality of it all: their lives would never be the same. Never.  
  
~Well, I had wanted to write something like this for a while. Steve fans, go ahead and hate me. But please, R&R! More to come, and soon, I hope!~ Mariah 


	2. Sleeping

Mark, Jesse, and Amanda walked dazedly through the halls towards Mark's office.  The banter that usually filled the hospital corridors ceased when the trio passed by.  Not a word was uttered; everyone's emotions were too high.  The silence rang out louder then a code blue.   

When they finally reached the office, it was as if Amanda had been pulled out of a trance.  Pacing the floor, Amanda began speaking rapidly and somewhat incomprehensibly, asking the question they all wanted to know the answer to: why Steve?

Mark took a seat behind his desk, picking up the framed photograph of his son.  Running his thumb down the frame, he let the tears fall down, streaking the glass that covered the picture.   That photo had been taken the day Steve became a detective; it had been one of the most memorable, along with one of the most nerve-wracking days of his life.  Now, he remembered why.

Jesse, on the other hand, remained staring straight ahead as he sank in to one of two hardwood chairs.  Noiselessly crying, tears falling to the carpet, his head in his hands; it was a rueful sight.  Dozens of thoughts ran through his head, yet he comprehended all but one: Steve was dead.

Suddenly, from frantic mutterings, Amanda exclaimed, "Ellen!" she began madly punching Steve's ex-fiancé's number.  Before she could finish, Jesse stood and gently guided her hand to replace the receiver back on its holder.

"Amanda," he said in a hushed voice.  "There are a lot of people who knew Steve in one way or another.  They will be notified.  But, this time is for the three of us."

"You're right.  I guess I was looking for an escape.  I still can't believe he's…"Amanda's voice trailed off, leaving her crying by Jesse's side.  "I just don't want to face the truth."

"None of us want to.  But it happened, and that can't be changed," Jesse sighed and wiped the salty tears off his face.  

The door opened as Amanda laid a comforting hand on Mark's shoulder.  They all looked up to see Sergeant Tanis Archer, Steve's partner, walk in, not crying, but obviously not at peace.  

"I'm so sorry, Dr. Sloan.  Steve was a wonderful detective and a wonderful man," she took a seat next to Mark and shook her head sadly.  "I only knew him a few months…"

"Have you talked to any of the other officers at the scene?" Jesse asked, wanting to know firsthand what happened to his friend.

"Actually, yes.  Lieutenant Doug Malick was there; he came in just a little while ago," Tanis breathed deeply, preparing herself for what she was about to say.  "Apparently, Michael Landers, the shooter, took aim at Malick.  From what Malick told us, Steve saw it coming, dove in front of him and took the shot instead."

"Oh my God," Amanda whispered.

"They apprehended Landers a few blocks down," Tanis continued.  "Mark, Steve died a hero. You should be proud of him."

Mark spoke up for the first time since the tragedy. "I'd rather have him alive than a hero."

"Believe me, I wish the same thing," Amanda said.

For the next few minutes, they all sat in silence, reflecting on their fallen friend, son, and comrade.  Suddenly, Jesse stood and opened a small bottle from a drawer in his bag. Pouring out a handful of small white pills, he held out his hand to the group.  "Sedatives," he said.  "To get you through the first night."

Amanda and Tanis each selected a pill and looked at Mark, who remained stationary.   "Aren't you going to take one?"

Mark sat for a few seconds, and when he spoke, his voice was quiet and sullen.  "I don't want to."

"But Mark —"

"Don't you understand?  Drugging ourselves into a stupor isn't going to change anything!"  he shouted, standing up.  

"Calm down, Mark!" Jesse said soothingly.  "I think this situation has left you somewhat incoherent."

"I know exactly what I'm saying!"  Mark started walking around the room.  "All that's going to come of this is; I'm going to black out for a few hours, and when I crawl out of that little capsule, nothing will have changed.  Steve will still be dead."

"I know that nothing will change, Mark.  The medicine will just help you forget for the time being," Jesse said, offering the pill to Mark, who thrust it away.

"Why don't you get it?  My son is dead.  I don't want to forget," Mark broke down on Jesse's shoulder, sobbing.  "Steve wouldn't want us to forget."

Tears sliding down his cheeks, Jesse held Mark close to him, saying, "He was my friend; I know what you're thinking.  But knowing Steve, he wouldn't want us to sit around feeling sorry for ourselves, either.  We have to respect his memory.  I mean, if he were here, we'd all be laughing at something he said or discussing case files."

"If Steve were here, we wouldn't need to worry about what we're going to do now that he's gone," Mark whispered.

No one could say anything to that; Mark had a point.  After a minute or two of devastated silence, Amanda slowly reached forward to place the sedative back in Jesse's hand.  Tanis followed suit.

"I'm just going to go home," Amanda said.  "I have a lot to think about.  I'll talk to you all tomorrow."  Closely followed by the sergeant, she walked out the door, leaving Jesse and Mark.

"I'm going to go, too," Jesse, brushing tears off his face, managed to say.

"Take care, Jess," Mark called behind him, and when the door was safely shut, he sat down and cried for his lost son.

Driving home, Jesse tried to focus on the road, but his mind kept drifting back to Steve.  When he arrived at his empty apartment, he dropped his duffle bag at the door and went into his bedroom.  Not bothering to change from his scrubs, he collapsed on the bed, unleashed sobs racking his tried body.  Tears pouring down his face, he cried late into the night, and into the morning, and eventually to sleep, with only the beating of his lonely heart to comfort him.


End file.
